


Snow Day

by Sashimae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Hoping this is fluff, Josie gets revenge, Massage, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashimae/pseuds/Sashimae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine HATES the cold, and the only one who has even a chance of convincing her to come outside into the snow is Trevelyan. </p><p>Filled 2 kmemes at once ('warm massage oil' and 'fluff').</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Day

Josephine shifts the blanket around her shoulders, pulling it a little tighter in an attempt to trap in the warmth. _Maker_ , but there isn’t a day when she doesn’t wish Solas had known of a fortress in someplace _warm_. It isn’t the snow she hates, she tells herself, just the cold, but that is a lie. Wet, icy, trickling down her neck and under her collar or inside her shoes, finding _every_ crack in her clothing to touch bare flesh…Ugh.

Even so, she forces herself to walk around the battlements of Skyhold at least once a day, to get out from behind her desk and stretch her legs. But the sky is overcast and threatening snow, and she wishes she hadn’t chosen to take her walk _today_.

“Ambassador! Josephine!”

She turns around, flinching when the movement causes her blanket to flap and some cold air to enter her cocoon. “Ah, Inquisitor,” she greets cordially as the woman nears. Even though they have been in a relationship for two months, it is an unspoken agreement that when in public they maintain their professional demeanors. “Is there something I may help you with?”

The other woman’s eyes are sparkling. “It’s going to _snow_!” She spins on the ball of one foot, arms outstretched, laughing joyfully.

Josephine glances up at the sky. “I’m aware,” she replies sourly as her body gives a reflexive shiver. She begins walking again, Trevelyan hurrying to catch up.

“I know you don’t like the snow Josie, but it’s not like Haven,” Trevelyan wheedles with a winning smile. “We have nice rooms and warm fires now, so you can enjoy it!”

“I would prefer to stay inside with these warm fires you speak of, Inquisitor. _You_ may enjoy the snow.” Even as she says this, the first flakes begin falling from the sky, and Josephine cringes in anticipation of their cold touch.

“Oh, _Josie_.” There is an indulgent sigh, and warmth presses against her face. She looks over to see Trevelyan holding up a ball of flame cupped in one hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

Josephine does not dignify that comment with a response even as she takes a step closer to the heat, desperate for the warmth as snowflakes begin to fall thicker. The large double doors leading to the hall are not very far away, and she quickens her pace in anticipation of a large fire and some warm tea. However, her warm companion falls behind when Josephine reaches the open wooden doors, and she looks back in surprise. “Are you not coming inside, Your Worship?”

“No, _I’m_ going to stay out here and enjoy the snow!” Trevelyan gives her a wink and disappears into the falling white curtain. Josephine shakes her head at the mage’s well-hidden insanity and retreats, already considering grabbing a few more blankets for her office.

* * *

 

“Josie, you have to come outside!”

The voice permeates Josephine’s intense concentration, winding its way into her consciousness until she looks up, blinking. “My lady?” Trevelyan is standing in front of her desk, arms laden with what appear to be many coats. The diplomat blinks again, nonplussed. “May I ask why you come bearing coats?”

Trevelyan’s smile is enough to make Josephine push back her chair and stand warily. “They’re for you to come outside! Please, Josie,” she continues when the Antivan doesn’t move but eyes the pile of coats like a nest of vipers, “just this once, promise. I even put a warming spell on them for you!” She shakes her bundle invitingly.

“You will have to do better than that.” Josephine crosses her arms, fixing a stern eye on her lover. “I will not risk becoming sodden just because you promise me some warm coats.”

Trevelyan comes around the desk, dropping her burden on Josephine’s chair so she can wrap her arms around the Antivan from behind. “What if I promise you a couch in front of a roaring fire tonight?” She rests her chin on the diplomat’s shoulder as Josephine leans into the embrace.

“Mm, it is a start,” Josephine murmurs, lacing her hands over Trevelyan’s. “What else?”

“Some mulled cider? A few cakes?” Each suggestion is punctuated by a brush of the mage’s lips: behind the shell of her ear, at the point of her jaw, down the column of her neck. Josephine shivers at the touch. “Myself?”

The diplomat turns her head, catching Trevelyan’s soft mouth with her own. The other woman’s tongue asks for entrance and she grants it, exploring her lover’s mouth in return. She tastes of elfroot and cinnamon, with a cool, underlying crispness that is new, and Josephine savors it. When one of Trevelyan’s hands wanders from her waist to cup her breast she moans into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed.

But just as she pushes into the touch, beginning to drown in the feeling of being loved, Trevelyan releases her lips and breast and steps back. “That was just a sample.” She grins at Josephine’s disappointed huff. “Do you find my terms acceptable, Lady Montilyet?”

Dark eyes narrow. “You drive a hard bargain, Inquisitor. But I accept.”

“Wonderful!” The playful glint is back in Trevelyan’s eyes as she picks up a coat. “First layer.”

After her lover has finished dressing her like a doll, Josephine follows the mage to the wide double doors once more. In the few hours she has been inside, the abandoned courtyard has been _covered_ in soft whiteness, and she cannot even see Cassandra’s training dummies on the far side. The Antivan balks, and Trevelyan catches her hand before she can run back inside. “Uh-uh, you promised!” She steps onto the stairs, tugging Josephine to join her. “See? It’s not so bad.”

There are already snowflakes catching in Trevelyan’s hair and on her eyelashes, and Josephine can concede that yes, the snow is rather pretty when it’s not melting all over her. But when the other woman tilts back her head and opens her mouth, Josephine is baffled. “My darling, what are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever tasted snowflakes?” Trevelyan sticks her tongue out, chasing one large snowflake as it descends.

“As I grew up in Antiva, I cannot say I have ever tried.” Her tone is much drier than her surroundings.

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that!” The mage bounds down the stairs, and Josephine follows at a more sedate pace. Trevelyan stops at an untouched snow pile just to the right of the stone steps, scooping up a fluffy handful and sticking it in her mouth. “You too!” She gathers another handful and offers it to Josephine, holding it in front of her face invitingly.

The Antivan leans forward warily, taking a small piece and bringing it to her lips, tongue briefly darting out to taste the snow. It isn’t unpleasant, she decides, and has a familiar taste that she can’t quite place. So she allows Trevelyan to feed her the snow, a bit at a time, until it is gone and Trevelyan leans in for another kiss.  Her lips are cold and Josephine shudders briefly, but the warmth of her mouth makes up for it. As their tongues meet and dance, a small corner of Josephine’s mind notes that same clean flavor as before – _so that’s what it is_. Her lover must have been eating snow before coming inside. She can see the appeal, albeit barely; eating cold treats on cold days has never made sense to her. She would much rather experience the taste of snow this way, with Trevelyan’s hands coming up to cradle her face, moving down her throat and across her shoulders, to the nape of her neck, and…

She screeches, jumping nearly a foot in the air as _cold_ slides down her back. “You…you…. _ass!_ _Ciucc!_ ” Trevelyan runs a few steps away, laughing uproariously. Josephine squirms, _feeling_ the melting snow running along her spine and hating every moment of it. “You will _pay_ for that!”

She scoops up a handful of snow. Just because she doesn’t like the snow, or often experience it, doesn’t mean that she is ignorant of the concept of snowballs. With a few quick pats she has a decent projectile, and she fires it at the still laughing Inquisitor. It lands with a satisfying smack on her cheek. She immediately packs another and fires it as well, before having to dodge to the right in avoidance of the retaliation. As one foot sinks into a snowdrift, Josephine is silently glad she didn’t change out of the boots Leliana had bought her before Haven. They are waterproof and tall enough that the tops are still above the growing pile.

Trevelyan has taken cover behind a bush, peering cautiously over the top at Josephine. The Antivan can see the Inquisitor’s hands moving quickly, no doubt creating a stockpile of ammunition. Well, she isn’t going to back down. This may not be the arena of words, but she _will win_. Josephine ducks through the stone arch behind her and begins packing her own supply of snowballs. There is quiet for a few minutes as the two work, the only living beings in the courtyard – which is oddly suspicious. But then Josephine no longer has time to ponder as a packed handful of snow sails just in front of her nose. The battle has begun.

She scoops up the snowballs in the crook of her arm and creeps away from the arch, towards the lowering stairs. Sure enough, Trevelyan is watching the opening for any sign of movement. Josephine takes aim and fires once, twice, three times. Only the first two hit, and Josephine relishes the surprised expression on Trevelyan’s face. Revenge is sweet. Then she ducks behind the steps once more, a snowball barely grazing the top of her head as she drops.

“Josie, where’d you learn to throw like that?” Trevelyan calls, voice dampened by the still-falling snow.

“Diplomacy is not my only skill, Inquisitor! Surely you are aware!” she shouts back, crouching against the cold stonework.

“Well yeah, but –” There is a startled squawk, and Josephine can’t resist peering over the edge of the steps, even at the risk of retaliation. Trevelyan is lying on the ground next to her bush, the back of her head covered with snow, and above her, laughing raucously, is a blonde elf. “ _Sera!_ ”

The archer grins, three more _large_ snowballs in her hands. “Yeah?” Two more projectiles are launched at the Inquisitor, who quickly scrambles out of the way towards the dubious cover of the archway, and the last one at Josephine. It hits her in the shoulder, knocking her backwards with the force, and she lands on her back _hard_.

“Josie!”

“Sorry Scribbles!” Sera calls, sounding _almost_ apologetic before she has to close her window with alacrity. The glass is peppered with snow a moment later.

“Josie are you okay?” Cold hands are on her cheeks, turning her head to meet worried eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that –”

Josephine rolls her eyes, pushing herself into a sitting position. “I am not some fragile doll, Inquisitor. I can take a hit without breaking.” But she flinches as a muscle in her back pulls. Apparently a snow-packed stone courtyard still makes for a hard landing.

A moment later she is scooped up bridal style, a surprised squeak escaping her mouth at the sudden motion. “Hush.” Lips brush her forehead as she is hoisted higher, and Trevelyan begins climbing the steps to the hall. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” When Josephine opens her mouth once more, she is met with a loving glare. “ _Hush_.” The Antivan subsides, resting her head against Trevelyan’s shoulder.

“What happened to Ruffles?” Varric yells as Trevelyan steps into the hall, and Josephine glares at him. Did he _have_ to draw attention to them?

“Sera happened,” Trevelyan calls back without stopping. “Go get revenge for me, will you?” The dwarf gives a mock salute with Bianca before he is out of Josephine’s line of sight. She can hear others in the hall murmuring to each other, and she buries her face in Trevelyan’s shoulder to hide her blush. _Honestly._

Then there is quiet as the Trevelyan pushes open the door to her quarters and begins climbing another set of stairs, but Josephine does not remove her forehead from its resting place until she feels her lover stop walking. She opens her mouth to speak, but is forestalled as Trevelyan lays her on the bed and turns around to encourage the ever-burning fire into a larger blaze.

“Was that really necessary?” Josephine finally asks, pushing herself into a sitting position to look at the other woman as she returns to sit on the bed.

Trevelyan shrugs, not quite meeting Josephine’s eyes. “You wouldn’t be out there if I hadn’t asked, and you got hurt. And I started the snow fight too.” Her hands pluck nervously at the blanket by her thigh.

“Hey.” Josephine reaches out, brushing her fingers along Trevelyan’s jaw before placing her fingers underneath the mage’s chin, gently urging her gaze up. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Trevelyan looks less guilty now, but it is replaced with determination. “I believe I promised you a reward, didn’t I?” She waits for Josephine’s nod before leaning forward to seal their mouths with a kiss, and Josephine can’t suppress a smile against her lover’s lips. Kisses are Trevelyan’s way of ensuring she is alright, and she honestly can’t bring herself to mind. Their lips meet twice more as hands come up to cup Josephine’s cheek and neck, cradling her head to deepen the contact, and she doesn’t resist.

Finally Trevelyan pulls away briefly and Josephine opens her eyes, not quite sure when they closed, to be met with a loving smile. “Stay here.” Josephine does as she is asked, watching curiously as Trevelyan stands up and goes over to her desk to pick up a bottle. When she comes back to the bed she sits behind Josephine instead, although hands on her shoulders keep the Antivan from turning around. “Just relax.”

Soft lips touch her neck, pressing light kisses to her nape, as warm fingers begin undoing the first of her many layers. The three coats are easy to remove, Trevelyan’s hands stroking from her shoulders and down her arms as each is peeled off. Rather than getting colder as her insulation is removed, Josephine feels warmth seeping into her bones as trails of heat follow Trevelyan’s fingers. Her sash and cinch are next, the warm blaze of her lover’s mouth moving to the pulse point right behind her ear, and Josephine can’t suppress a soft sigh. Trevelyan has to lean back to remove Josephine’s chain of office, laying the heavy gold on the end table next to the bed before returning to her task.

There is a pressure that runs along her spine before Trevelyan’s arms wrap around her, fingers brushing up Josephine’s stomach and between her breasts before briefly stopping their journey to undo her neck scarf. They linger on the hollow of her throat, and Josephine leans into the strong body behind her. “Are you enjoying this?” she whispers; her answer is a hum as those fingers begin descending, stopping to undo buttons of her brocade overcoat. The material pools around her waist as Trevelyan tugs it off her shoulders and starts to play with the smaller buttons of her blouse. They are harder to unfasten and after the third fumble, Josephine brings up her own hands to guide the other woman’s.

When the silk parts, Josephine suppresses a shiver at the colder air. “Relax,” Trevelyan murmurs at her ear and those warm hands journey upwards once more, leaving trails of heat and goosebumps in their wake. Rounded fingernails brush lightly over the newly-bared skin of her abdomen and Josephine giggles, her head falling back to rest on Trevelyan’s shoulder. The motion earns her a nuzzling kiss to her neck as those fingers begin to trace tender circles up her stomach, continuing until they reach the cloth of her breastband. “Josie?”

Her answer is a soft whimper, eyes slipping closed as tapered fingers slip underneath the barrier, just ghosting the bottoms of her breasts. “Please,” she breathes. Rather than removing the support, those warm hands continue their journey to cup her chest. The movement causes fabric to rub across sensitive skin, and Josephine can’t keep herself from moaning, pushing her chest into the contact. She feels more than hears a soft huff of laughter against her skin.

“Eager, are we?” A thumb comes up, circling one nipple lightly as the other remains maddeningly still. Josephine moans again as heat flares at the contact, echoed by a pulsing low in her abdomen. She wants to turn around, to push Trevelyan back on the bed and feel skin against skin but somehow she is frozen, captured by barely-there touches as those hands leave her breasts, taking the cloth with them. Warm palms rub up and over her shoulders, finally sliding golden silk down her arms to join the brocade, leaving her torso bare to the air. Her nipples harden further at the cold air.

“You are a tease.” She murmurs the words, unwilling to move her head from where it still rests on Trevelyan’s shoulder. That mouth leaves her neck finally, moving upwards to press suckling kisses along her chin until their lips meet.

“You love me for it,” Trevelyan replies with a grin when she finally pulls away. “Lie down.” Warm fingers brush her collarbone as Josephine does as she is asked, looking up at her lover curiously. “Roll over,” the mage continues as she reaches over to the bottle from before, uncorking it and pouring some sort of oil onto her palm. The Antivan does, suppressing another whimper as her sensitive nipples drag across the blanket. But then she is distracted by the first touch of _warm_ on her back, heat radiating onto her skin. Trevelyan’s palms haven’t even made contact, and her hands are already much warmer than body temperature.

Then that heat is sinking into her muscles, and Josephine relaxes into the bed with a content sigh. Tension she didn’t even know she had is smoothed away with lithe strokes of those hands – pressing along her spine, under her shoulder blades, up the column of her neck. Her skin tingles with warmth even after dexterous fingers have moved on, and she savors the sensation. Her arms move upwards to pillow her head, but slick fingers move from massaging away the knots in her shoulders to slide down her forearms, guiding them back to their previous position next to her body.

She would protest, but her writing hand is picked up and cradled, butterfly kisses being brushed across her knuckles before thumbs dig firmly into her palm. It hurts at first, and Josephine can feel her body tense, but then there is a sudden _release_ and the pain is gone, replaced by a curious rush of pleasure. The sensation follows Trevelyan’s hands as they work their way slowly up Josephine’s forearms, upper arms, back to her shoulders, down her spine. Her whole body is pleasantly tingling when her lover reaches her waist once more and pauses.

Josephine feels the bed shift as Trevelyan rises, then there are hands fumbling at her boots, drawing them off one at a time. She can’t quite bring herself to help as Trevelyan moves up to her leggings, working them off slowly. Her body feels heavy, pressing into the blankets so comfortably that she never wants to move.

“Josie, are you still awake?”

She isn’t sure if the question is serious, but she gives a muffled “Mm,” in reply without opening her eyes. If Trevelyan keeps this up, she will be asleep soon enough, earlier stimulation long forgotten. She feels cold air on her thighs as the leggings are finally removed, smallclothes vanishing with them, and shivers. When the hands do not come immediately back, she raises her head slightly, searching for Trevelyan. “Don’t stop…”

There is a quiet laugh, then heat seeps into the sole of her foot and her head falls back down to the pillow with a happy sigh. As strong fingers massage away the tension and pain of tight ligaments and muscles, Josephine melts so far into the blankets she isn’t sure she will ever resurface. The heat that follows Trevelyan’s fingers as they slowly move up her leg lulls her into a deep relaxation – so deep, that her breathing evens out as she slips into sleep.

Trevelyan notices the change in Josephine’s breathing; her fingers still as she watches her lover’s face for any sign of consciousness. But there is none, and after a moment the mage lets a self-satisfied grin spread across her face. Her Josie has fallen asleep. It is the work of a moment to shuck her own clothes, slightly longer to fold down the blankets and move Josephine over to the prepared spot without waking her.

She slips under the blankets next to her love, curling up against Josephine’s side and sighing happily when the Antivan shifts in her sleep, nuzzling against Trevelyan’s neck and slipping one arm over her waist. _This is where she belongs_.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first remotely-anywhere-near-smut work ever. Here's hoping it worked.
> 
> Also serious call-out to my best roommate/friend ever for putting up with my insecurity and reading this multiple times.


End file.
